


And nowhere to go

by saltstreets



Series: Not Dead Yet 'verse [2]
Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Fix-It, Flirting, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-24
Updated: 2020-03-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:35:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23297884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltstreets/pseuds/saltstreets
Summary: Just one of the many things that make the Discovery Service worth the time.
Relationships: Thomas Jopson/Lt Edward Little
Series: Not Dead Yet 'verse [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1675456
Comments: 14
Kudos: 44
Collections: The Terror Bingo (2019)





	And nowhere to go

**Author's Note:**

> For Terror Bingo: 'Discovery Service'. Finally making headway!
> 
> A sequel/companion fic to “All dressed up”, but both are stand-alone. All you need to know is this is a ‘marched north to Fury Beach instead of south to Back’s River, got picked up by Sir James Clark Ross and his cheekbones, and generally things weren’t as bleak’ AU. You know. The classic scenario.

Social interrogation was never something that Little had found comfortable, and it was even worse when half of the only story that anyone wanted to hear was too grim to be prettied up, and the other half too fantastic to be shared. That had been one of the first matters of business among the officers, huddled into the cramped cabin afforded to Captain Crozier onboard Sir James’ _Enterprise:_ sailors could gossip and talk, that was expected of them. But a supernatural bear wasn’t anything that should be described by an officer, if said officer wanted to keep his job. So mouths had been shut, and posts retained. And now Edward Little found himself standing awkwardly off to the side in a room full of gossiping epaulettes and the glittering ladies that accompanied them, trying hide behind a glass of wine and hoping that no one tried to accost him too aggressively. It was all well and good to be a hero of the Discovery Service, but it was also rather a burden if one was not terribly good at parties.

Perhaps he _should_ have started spilling ghost stories. Then he could be at home in his rooms which, though somewhat drafty, were still his and therefore crucially empty of crowds of people whom Little didn’t really want to talk to. Oh, he enjoyed a good dinner with friends and conversation, but it was the larger gatherings with so many strangers that didn’t quite fit. He never knew what to say, or when to say it.

Preserve him, someone was approaching from the side. Little’s peripheral vision caught the movement, and he affixed a polite social expression to his face before turning to see-

Lieutenant Jopson, equally polite and sociable, and smiling widely.

“Commander Little,” said Jopson, extending a gloved hand. “I thought I’d caught a glimpse of you.”

Little took the proffered hand with gratitude, the weight of expected stilted society lifting from his shoulders and being replaced by a complicated combination of surprise, pleasure, and nerves at Jopson being sprung on him so suddenly.

In dark blue wool and gold braid, Jopson looked different. He had always had a strong, quiet presence: despite his stewardly prowess at melting into the background Little had always been aware of Jopson in a room, his eye drawn to the steady hands and cool expression. But now the man was unmistakeable. He looked every inch a lieutenant to rank among the Navy’s finest, most of whom were currently assembled: assured and capable and, it couldn’t be ignored, handsome. Little had seen Jopson since returning to England, but they had all still been more sickly than strong. Now Jopson seemed to have bounced back, his hair glossy rather than straw-dry and his handshake firm.

“Lieutenant Jopson,” said Little, still taken aback and taking in, and retreating to rote social cues to support him. “The pleasure’s all mine.” It felt odd to merely shake the hand of a man who had both served Little at the dinner table and been through hell with him, but what else could they do. Little shook Jopson’s hand with particular energy.

“It’s wonderful to see you,” said Jopson, and sounded like he meant it.

“And you. You look- good.” Little stammered. “I mean, well. You look well. Not to say that you don’t also look good, you do indeed, the new uniform. It suits you.”

Jopson saved him from continuing to trip over the words cramming their way out of his mouth by laughing. “Never mind the flattery. I feel like a sore thumb here.” He reached up and brushed the lock of hair that had fallen across his forehead back behind his ear. “I’m still far from used to being so exposed at affairs like these, I’d be much more comfortable somewhere at the back, with a platter of canapes.”

“I prefer you here,” Little said before he could stop himself. “Er. I’m pleased you’re here. And you seem to have taken to it well.”

“As well as I can,” said Jopson drily, and Little felt a little thrill that Jopson was speaking to him so easily like this, as a fellow officer rather than as a servant. He had caught flashes of Jopson’s personality before, of course, but mostly when he was talking with Crozier or in a rare moment off-duty, or at the end, when it had already been too late.

Almost too late. What was this if not a second chance? And if second chances came with Thomas Jopson buttoned up in gold and blue, the slender line of his waist accentuated and a clever glint in his eyes, then Little might have to start throwing away initial tries a bit more often.

They still weren’t precisely equals. Little wore the title of _commander_ now, along with some additions in gold to his uniform jacket, but a lieutenant might speak to a commander in a way that a steward could never speak to a lieutenant. Particularly if said lieutenant and commander had accompanied each other right up to death’s doorstep before only just being saved the need to ring the bell.

“I really am glad to see you,” Jopson said, and Little nearly dropped his wine glass. “A decided benefit of being a steward was that it never mattered if I _knew_ anyone or not, one just sort of…slithered about and could take refuge in the kitchens when it was all over. But now I have to mingle.”

 _Slithering_ was not precisely the word that Little would have assigned to Jopson’s movements as a steward; in private contemplation he had personally opted for _gliding_ more frequently than he was proud of, and on a few memorable occasions during the more lavish dinners at the beginning of their ill-fated voyage, _sweeping._

“I don’t mind admitting to you that I find the prospect quite alarming.” Jopson grimaced at the chattering crowd of officers and associated well-dressed persons, and took a cautious sip of wine. “So you see, you’re rather my port in the storm at the moment, if I may say so, sir.”

He certainly could say so. Little cleared his throat. “Where have you been staying in London, Jopson?”

“With Captain Crozier, actually. He’s been good enough to put me up for a time while I look for rooms of my own. Although since he in turn is staying in the Rosses’ apartments, as they are in the country, you could say we’re both guests.”

Little glanced around, interested. He hadn’t noticed Crozier arrive, although he knew the man tended to lurk at things like these. “Is he here now? I should like to say hello.”

“Unfortunately not,” said Jopson, his eyes bright with good cheer. “The captain has discovered a hitherto unknown love of opera, and was unavoidably unable to attend tonight’s, erm, festivities.”

After the years trapped on the ice and the long trek north to Somerset Island, Little was well-versed in Crozier’s personality and familiar enough with Jopson’s sense of humour to translate. “Is that so. Always was a great admirer of the performing arts, Captain Crozier.”

“Famously so, yes.”

They shared a smirk. Little took another sip of wine, feeling bolstered. It wasn’t difficult to talk to Jopson when he got right down to it. They had, after all, been through a lot together, and knew things that no one else could know who hadn’t been on those ships. He just had to stop overthinking it all.

“But how is Crozier? I hear he’s currently without a posting.” Little said, shifting to face Jopson more directly rather than gazing out onto the collection of guests milling about.

Jopson mirrored him. Strange how just two tiny adjustments could make the situation suddenly far more intimate, two men now conversing in earnest rather than just idly speaking. “He’s very well. You’re right in that he hasn’t a new command just yet, but he keeps mentioning South America in a meaningful sort of way, and accordingly I have been paying far more attention to sun bonnets in shop windows than I normally would.”

Little laughed. “So you’ll be sailing with him when he goes, then?”

“I certainly hope so, unless he finally catches on that I’m hardly a lieutenant at all, and makes a more sensible choice for the wardroom.”

“Come now,” Little chided, and conjured the boldness to give Jopson a friendly nudge on the shoulder. “Not many could have stepped into the breach as you did during that interminable march. If you don’t call that adequate experience, I don’t know what is.”

“You’re flattering me again. All I did was take the place of better men after we lost Gore and Fairholme.”

“They were good men. But the captain chose you to replace them for a reason. The Navy couldn’t ask for a finer lieutenant.”

“Now I _know_ you’re just flattering me,” said Jopson, smiling. “What about you? Will you be racing off to further undiscovered lands, or resting on your laurels for the time being?”

“I’d prefer to _discover_ some place a bit warmer next time, but yes. I’m looking to be back at sea as soon as I can. If the Navy has anywhere to send me, that is.” Little glanced about the room, taking in the glow of candlelight off of gilt-framed paintings, the heavy velvet drapes and the imposing, if architecturally redundant, columns. “I’m, ah, not at my most comfortable with the more decorative duties of an officer.”

“I second you there,” Jopson said into his wine glass. “’Of all the hardships of the Discovery Service, this may be the toughest.’” He spoke with the cadence of someone quoting, and Little raised an eyebrow. “Oh, just something that Crozier once said. About the more decorative duties, as you neatly put it. I think he may have been joking. But also, he very well may not have been.”

“I’m not quite as averse to ceremony as Captain Crozier is,” Little mused, “but he does make a point.”

Jopson raised his glass in a mock toast. Little followed suit, and they drank. It was fine wine, at the least.

“I do find that I may have to amend the maxim.” Jopson spoke, rolling the stem of his now-empty glass between his fingers. “With good company and conversation, it might be withstood fairly enough. Don’t you agree?” He reached up again and tucked that ever-present errant lock of hair behind his ear. Little noted the small movements and wondered if this was perhaps what nervous energy looked like on Jopson, a man trained for years to stand still.

“Just one of the many things that make the Discovery Service worth the time,” said Little, captivated by the thought. “Would you like- could I fetch you another drink, Lieutenant?”

Jopson smiled, bright and pleased. The hair had already fallen back into his eyes but at the moment, he didn’t move to fix it. “You know, Commander, I’d very much like it if you would.”


End file.
